


Pillars of Salt

by glitterstim



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Fisting, M/M, Rape, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterstim/pseuds/glitterstim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kink meme prompt that begins, "Kylo Ren fucks Poe over live broadcast to the Resistance." General Organa is forced to watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillars of Salt

**Author's Note:**

> written for this [tfakink meme prompt:](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/2821.html?thread=4365829#cmt4365829)  
> Kylo Ren fucks Poe over live broadcast to the Resistance. Can be right after Jakku or a recaptured situation. (Please include fisting and/or atm! It's my birthday. :))
> 
> +Outsider pov, but preferably not Finn or Rey  
> +Leia makes herself watch because she feels responsible for Poe's capture  
> +Poe tries to fake that he's OK but everybody can see he's crying/bleeding  
> +Poe vomits at some point

"General? General!" 

Leia is deep into a tactical discussion when Pamich Nerro comes up to her in the command hub, sounding panicked. Leia lets her hang for a few more seconds, then turns to her.

"What is it, ensign?" she snaps at her. Most communications to the base she ignores off hand.

Nerro swallows, but doesn’t recoil. "There's an encrypted feed coming in from the First Order, sir."

Leia follows her to the comms station and stands behind her seat as Nerro authorizes the feed, letting it past some, but not all, their security, firewalls springing up around it.

Leia’s expecting the cold gaze of General Hux, perhaps one of the Senators the First Order has in their pocket. Perhaps even Captain Phasma.

What she sees is a full comms screen of Poe Dameron, locked in a torture chair. A flicker of cold recognition runs down her spine at the scene: a cold room on a Star Destroyer, empty except for the prisoner and a single chair. 

Poe doesn’t seem to be aware of the camera. His eyes, instead, glance around the room. He’s got a bruise over his left eye, over the whole left side of his face, and his temple is bloody. His lip is split and there’s more dried blood on his flight suit.

She notices they’ve taken his shoes.

"Commander!" she almost shouts into the comms, making Nerro flinch. There’s no response, but a door opens beyond the camera’s lens and she see Poe's eyes widen in abrupt horror.

"Commander," a mechanical voice says, and she knows that voice, down to her bones. The mechanical distortion is nothing to her.

"Shut down visual," she orders Nerro, and she reaches over to cut the screen.

"I wouldn't if I were you." The mask of Kylo Ren appears in view, and Leia stays the ensign's hand. 

"While your esteemed pilot can't hear you, I certainly can, and I think you'll want to watch the upcoming fun."

"This is sick," Leia says, "and unnecessary. Name your terms."

There's a laugh, and it makes Leia feel sicker than she already did. 

“This isn’t a negotiation, General.”

The other Resistance officers are moving closer now, wondering what the commotion is, and she wants to turn on them, snarl at them to get away. She glares, at least.

"Who are you talking to?" Poe's voice is hoarse, forced out of a throat that's been squeezed too hard for too long, ringed with bruises.

Kylo looks over his shoulder, mask expressionless, and considers.

"Who...are you filming me? Who are you talking too?" The panic in his voice is obvious. Leia tries to count how many days he might have already been there, in the hands of the First Order.

"Say hello to your General, Commander."

Leia feels her heart break at the flash of hope that flickers over Poe's face, giving way to wild rabbiting fear. His body jerks in the rack holding him and she feels a sympathy pang in her ribs -- the Force, maybe, if the Force were around such things.

“General, don't, please," he pleads. 

"I said," snarls Ren, "say _hello_." His hand curls and Poe's eyes screw shut as he's choked, small noises crushed out of his throat.

"Shrink the feed!" Leia shouts. Poe's pain is huge in the hub, the high def display taking up a quarter of the wall.

"Oh, I think you all should stay for the show," Ren says, chuckling as he lets his hand fall. "Why not use some of that technology for a little entertainment now and then?”

Poe wheezes, eyes watering.

"You're a monster,” Leia says.

"You should know," Ren hisses. "If you stop watching this feed, if you stop broadcasting it, I'll kill him." Ren's lightsaber flares to life with a mere flick of his wrist.

It's hissing and popping is so familiar and alien at the same time. She can hear Poe suck in a breath, see the whites of his eyes.

"General, please, he's trying to get a locati--" Poe sputters, choking again.

"She's not an idiot, Commander," he says. He almost sounds fond, like he's speaking to a particularly dull housepet.

"Settle in, General," Kylo Ren says into the camera, and then he turns to face Poe.

-

Poe aches. He aches all over, muscles tight and blood sluggish from being trapped in one position for too long. He's anxious, has been ever since a droid entered the room and silently set itself up in a corner an hour ago.

There's a hole in his gums that he can't stop tonguing at -- he'd had a tooth filled with a toxin, for emergencies, for this particular emergency, and the first thing Ren had done was rip it out of his head using the Force. Poe knows there are other ways to die, one or two things he could still try.

But he's a coward. Poe doesn't want to die yet. He's escaped, improbably, once before, and that keeps him from biting through his tongue to choke on his own blood.

He's had long hours alone to think about it.

Ren entering his little torture room makes his stomach clench in fear. He'd been stronger at the beginning, the first days of his capture, but now he has to struggle against the instinct to ask for mercy. He knows what could come next, what he’d have to trade.

Ignorance was more blissful than this, but there’s not much else he can do.

Instead of looking at him, Ren fiddles with the droid, talking to it or himself. He laughs, and it’s low and makes Poe even more concerned.

Poe knows one of his eardrums is blown -- he spent hours feeling the blood dribble out of his ear, so he can't tell what's being said until it's too late.

 _The General_ is watching this, he learns, is going to watch this, and he wants to cry. Instead, he gets choked, over and over, until Ren has had enough of talking to her and stalks over to him instead.

Ren waves his hand and the chair practically expels him, cuffs and restraints opening all at once. Poe hits the floor hard on his knees, and it's agony to move his limbs again, pins and needles to the maximum power.

"Fuck. Kriff. Fuck!" he swears mainly to himself, curling onto his side and slowly stretching out his legs and curling his toes as his blood starts moving again.

Ren looks down at him. The mask is impassive but Poe knows he's impatient, already bored of this one torture and thinking of the next one.

"Get up," Ren says, kicking him in the gut. It's not the hardest kick Poe's had recently, but he still coughs, takes his time standing.

"What are you planning?” Poe asks warily. He’s hunched when he stands, and he flexes his fingers and tries not to whine at the tingles there.

"Today's session is all about you, Commander." Poe still hasn't seen his face, but he can hear the grin, twisted, underneath it.

Poe glances quick at the door. He wonders if there's a guard outside. He thinks of all the angles of escape, again. It’s an all-consuming thought when he’s alone.

Ren normally catches these calculations in his head, laughs and taunts him for them, but he seems slightly preoccupied, looking over at the camera droid every so often.

Poe wonders if it would be worth it to try to fight.

"You can try it if you like," Ren says, and then he leans in. "I know you want to put on a good show for your beloved General, Dameron. Show her there's still some fight left in you?"

Poe narrows his eyes but he doesn't move.

"You'd like her to think you're not broken yet, wouldn't you?" While Ren's use of the Force is unpredictable and sly, he broadcasts his hits and punches seconds before they happen, and when he goes to hit Poe across the face Poe grabs his forearm and twists it, putting all his strength into flipping Ren onto his back with it.

It hurts, he can't breathe, he does it anyway and he kicks, bare feet, into Ren’s stomach, and then he's running only on adrenaline, pressing his elbow into Ren's windpipe as he sits on his chest.

He's shoved off, predictable, stupid, and slammed into the door. Ren _howls_ , furious and humiliated. His breath is ragged and as he stands, he unclasps his mask, lets it drop to the floor.

Poe stares -- Ren's pale skin is blotchy red from being choked, his long hair curling around his face. There’s an angry red scar across his face, but the rest of his skin is smooth, dotted with only a few freckles. He looks a scant younger than Poe himself, and he looks mad. Mad as in angry, mad like a boarhound with a fever, teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Something about his face trips something in Poe’s brain, but he doesn’t have time to mull it over.

"You'll PAY for that," Ren screams, stalking up to where Poe can't move, can't move, can't move.

"I was only going to hurt you today," Ren says, voice quiet when they're face to face. Ren lifts him so they're eye-to-eye, Poe's feet off the floor, and stares at him. Poe can't hide his fear now; Ren looks like he can smell it.

"Now it's going to be so much worse," Ren says, and he runs his gloved fingers through Poe's lank hair. It's a grotesque parody of tenderness, the way he cradles Poe's skull.

He yanks and Poe shouts, and Ren pulls him to the middle of the room, right under the watchful lens of the droid. He keeps his grip on his hair and pulls Poe's head further back, baring his neck.

"I guess you can see he hasn't had his spirit crushed yet," Ren says, sounding out of breath. "But I think that'll make today's demonstration more fun for both of us, don't you, General?"

There's no response, and Ren snaps, "Droid! Broadcast replies!"

"-so help me!" The General's voice is both balm and fire for Poe. He wants to hold it like a lifeline but he doesn't know if he'll survive the shame of this. If he ever sees her again, this is all he’ll think of, this catastrophe of a mission.

"General, your threats are music to my ears." 

-

"General," Ackbar says, tugging at her arm. "He can't...we're not doing a two-way vidcast. Let's clear the room, and leave the stream running."

"And when he asks me a question?" She can't think straight but she knows she’s not moving. She’s hitting her wrist comm instead, sending out several messages in quick succession to her programming team.

“I’ll answer,” Nerro says quietly.

Leia looks at her, and tries to be kind. “He’ll know. He’ll know if I leave.”

“I can’t watch this,” one of her lieutenant says.

“You don’t have to. In fact, that’s an order: clear the room!”

Ackbar looks balefully at her as he leaves, but Nerro stays.

“You need at comms tech,” she says.

Leia blinks. “I do. Track the signal,” she says, and she watches.

-

Ren kicks the back of Poe's knee and he falls to the ground again. He doesn't bother trying to get up; he's been kicked in the face by Ren once before and he wants to avoid it happening again.

"Now, what should we do first?" Kylo asks. He starts unclasping his cape, looking around the room. His eyes lock on the table, and that’s where he goes.

"I still...I still don't know what you _want_." Poe wants to scream it at him, wants to punch his nose until it cracks and he answers. 

Instead of answering, Ren fusses with the table, clicking the control panel until it contorts from an upright, restrictive cage to an actual table, restraint cuffs at the legs and several around the middle. Ren looks at him and grins, bites his lip.

Poe bites his own tongue to keep from begging.

"Oh, no no, you don't get to hurt yourself," Ren chides him, voice a pale approximation of what gentle should be. Poe feels his mouth forced open, and Ren leans over him.

"This won't do," Ren says, and he slides two gloved fingers over his tongue, pressing hard. The taste isn't objectionable -- it's clearly well-worn but expensive -- but Ren keeps sliding his fingers back into his throat until he gags, choking. He can't pull back, either, trapped by the Force the instant he tries.

"You'll learn to do this on my command," Ren says casually. "Soon I won't have to hold you still at all."

He removes his fingers and wipes them on Poe's cheek, smearing blood and saliva on his face.

"Get on the table," he says, and Poe's free to move again. 

"I...what do you want!" Poe shouts. He's shaking.

He knows.

Ren rolls his eyes. "You'll want it soon enough. Do what I want now and I'll make sure you enjoy it."

The problem is there's nowhere for Poe to _go_ , so he backs into a wall and plants his feet. "I don't. You couldn't."

"General!" Ren shouts at the droid. "Tell your brave little pilot that I most assuredly can."

Poe can feel the pressure in his head that means Ren is trying to dig into it. It's sickly familiar, even though Ren has yet to pull anything out of him that matches the importance of BB-8 from their first encounter. Poe doesn't even know where the current base is, let alone any of their upcoming attack plans.

That wasn’t his mission.

Kylo Ren doesn't seem to care about any of that, though -- he's spent his time tearing through Poe's childhood memories, his time at the Academy. One afternoon he made Poe relive every sexual experience of his life, groping himself as he watched Poe squirm.

There's a burst of static and he hears Leia say, "Commander."

She sounds so dejected that if his heart weren't beating a thousand times a second, it would hurt.

"Get on the table and I won't force you to like it," Ren says. "Of course, you could find that you enjoy yourself on your own.”

Poe doesn't know if that's much better -- either his mind is invaded or he's betrayed by his own body. He starts toward the table. 

"Wait." Ren says. "Strip for me first."

Poe has never been that body conscious; he came of age in barracks with other pilots and they got over their modesty fast. He starts to undress mechanically, tugging at the zipper to his flight suit.

"Make it a tease, Commander. Make sure the folks at home get a little thrill watching you."

"I don't-" Poe says, and Ren scoffs. He's settled in the one chair in the room, a chair Poe has never been allowed to sit in. He's been forced to stand for hours as a Trooper sits and watches, but this is worse.

"Everyone in that command center has thought about you," Ren says. "You think they don't look at you like I'm looking at you now?" Ren’s dark gaze doesn’t waver, eyes hooded.

Poe keeps unzipping his flight suit with shaky hands.

"I'm sure everyone on that base has thought about fucking you, Commander. How could they resist?"

Poe's chest is bare, and Ren takes a moment to smirk. "You're quite pleasing to look at, after all.” 

Poe's heard it before but never phrased like this, with that casual, dismissive tone. The way Ren leers at him is raw and sexual; if everything was different it would be flattering, attractive even. Now, it makes his stomach churn, even though he can feel himself blush, high on his cheeks. He hates himself for it. He shoves the suit off his hips, kicks it off his legs. 

He pulls his v-neck off, and lifting his arms above his head hurts in an alarming way that makes him hiss. He tries to do it slow but it’s hard to do anything with any kind of grace. His muscles scream at him.

"God, you're filthy," Ren says, nose wrinkling. He presses something on his wrist comm, and the door whooshes open to let another droid trundle in. 

Poe hesitates at the compression pants he's still in. His hands aren't shaking anymore but he just. He doesn't want to do this. He’s rather Ren press against the pain centers in his brain again. He would rather be whipped bloody, or kicked to death. 

Spaced.

"I could call in a torture droid, too, if you want to drag this out," Ren says, sounding bored again. "But the outcome will be the same, Commander."

There's a burst of commotion from the comms droid. "Poe, we understand--" comes a voice he can't identify, but then it's cut off.

He takes the pants off.

"Clean it," Ren tells the droid, motioning at Poe with his gloved hand.

It shoots a column of water at him, ice cold.

"Fuck!" he shouts. The pressure is awful and suddenly Ren's frozen him again so he can’t try to avoid the spray. The water scrapes against his skin and it hurts, his muscles tightening.

It's over fast -- the droid only circles him once -- but it must blast off enough sweat and grime for Kylo’s tastes.

"Get on the table." He pauses. "You won't enjoy the drying option."

Poe's shivering, naked, and he shakes himself a little. The water empties into a drain in the ground and he wonders how much blood has gone down that hole.

The droid bursts with noise again and Poe can barely make out the words being shouted, but it makes Ren laugh. The noise is low and thin, rarely used.

Ren snaps his hands in first, leaving his legs free. The table adjusts so his ass is just slightly raised, and his head is tilted to the floor. He feels the cage snap over him, securing at the small of his back, over his shoulder blades. The metal restraints dig into his skin; he can barely move, and his bare feet can hardly get purchase on the ground.

He shivers on the metal table and tries not to think, doesn’t think about Ren making him open his mouth, ignores the way the droid swivels to film him. Ignores Ren’s words, tries to ignore the fact that there are more people watching this. That maybe no one left the hub. Maybe the whole base is watching this, maybe Ren was right.

"Now, General, what should I start with?" Ren asks, and smiles.

-

Leia is holding a cup of spice tea that someone shoved at her before fleeing. The hub is empty and she can hear her heart in her own ears.

Nerro is still there, though. She’s tracked her part of the signal and passed on what she could to higher ranked technicians, who are all working elsewhere, avoiding the hub at all costs.

"You should leave," Leia says. Her mouth feels dry but her face is damp -- she hadn't realized she'd been crying

"You should let me take over. At least for a while.”

Leia doesn’t need this girl taking pity on her, but she lets her rest a hand on her arm and takes selfish comfort in it anyway.

"You can't be alone," Nerro says.

“This is my responsibility,” Leia says. She sent him on this mission. She sent him there.

The quiet is interrupted by the door whooshing open and Snap Wexley bursting into the command hub, swearing at the top of his lungs. The base is small, and even if the details were private, the news of "a broadcast of Poe being tortured' has probably swept through the personnel. Jessika is hot on his heels, and Finn trails behind, looking scared and ashen-faced.

Snap’s jaw shuts with an audible noise when he gets behind her seat and really gets a look at the screen.

Poe looks miserable, dripping water onto the floor, nude. He's a mess of bruising and cuts, mostly from the torture chair but many probably from ill considered escape plans or Stormtrooper boots and gloves.

"Use the fucking drug!" Snap shouts, pressing the transmit button to make sure it’s broadcasted..

Ren laughs. _Laughs._

His smile is so familiar.

They all watch in silence as he locks Poe to the table, ass in the air. Ren stands behind him, and he glances at the camera.

"Poe, be a dear and open your mouth," he says, hand twisting to Force compel him to anyway. "His tooth was the first thing I divested from him, as you can see."

Poe groans and shivers, damp and in pain.

"Finn, we should go," Jessika says, tugging on his arm.

"You should _all_ leave,” Leia says.

"It sounded like you have quite the crowd gathered there General. Are you broadcasting to the whole base? I'm sure your people would enjoy seeing their wet dreams come to life.

"I mean," Ren says, running a hand down Poe's flank, "just look at him."

Poe closes his eyes and grimaces. He looks so wrung out already. 

"Camera," Ren says, "Let's get a little more dynamic."

The camera had been swiveling before, but now it lifts, hovering and angling down so they can see the full expanse of Poe’s back, the long stretch of olive skin over fit muscle. It follows Ren as he walks around Poe, crouching down by his head.

“Now, General, what should I start with?” he asks, smiling. Then he slaps Poe across the face.

“Keep your eyes open for your friends,” Ren rumbles at him. 

Leia studies him -- there’s so much of her boy there, but Ben’s brows never furrowed like that. His eyes never burned quite so angry, like he could ignite everything in his path. But the expression of unbridled fury passes fast, leaving his eyes hooded and cold.

Every time Poe tries to close his eyes Ren hits him -- on the ass, on the back of the head, on the leg. Each slap leaves a darkening handprint, and Poe is forced to stare at the camera, dark eyes boring into all of them. 

Leia wills him to hold on.

Ren rests his hand on his ass. "Maybe spanking? It’s viewer’s choice, and I’m sure you’ve all thought about it." He squeezes the taut muscle there.

Poe blinks fast and Leia ignores that her eyes are watering in sympathy. No one in the hub can speak, but instead of leaving, Jessika and Finn are tightly holding hands.

"I could shove a stun baton in his ass and turn it on," Ren says, teeth baring. "I don't hear any objections, so I'll take your silence as a yes."

Jessika is the first one to slap her hand on the transmit button. "No!" 

"No? Then what do you want to see?”

"Start...start gentle," she says. Finn nods at her, encouraging. 

Leia understands what they think they’re doing, and it’s already too late to undo it. Poe will endure, though. She knows he will, because she’s ordered him to.

Ren smiles, and that anger burns in him so hot she can feel it in her own heart.

-

Poe wants to cry because he knows that voice, the voice that says 'start gentle,' and he knows she's trying to help but she's ripping him apart.

"I think you like these gloves," Ren says from behind him. Poe hears something opening, and his heartrate spikes. It’s lube, he knows it’s lube, but the thought of Ren being careful makes the whole spectre worse.

"I can be gentle,” Ren says, almost to himself. “Just one to start." 

He breaches the muscle with a slick, unrelenting pressure.

Poe grunts, the air being pushed out of his lungs with the suddenness of it. He doesn’t know where the camera is any more. He feels dizzy with the shame that he didn’t kill himself faster, that this is what’s breaking him apart. _Gently_.

Ren is methodical, rotating his finger and curling it inside Poe. Ren knows exactly where his prostate is but pushes past it, the leather smooth and cooled with lube. 

Poe tries to breathe.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” When Ren isn’t shouting, his voice is broad and timorous. Poe knows he’d be drawn to it, in a bar, if he heard it across the room. 

But here Ren sounds like he’s soothing a spooked animal, as though Poe could kick him and escape at any moment. Like he wants Poe to know he has to do this for his own good.

“I can teach you to want this,” Ren says, voice still soft but edged with some kind of sentimental desperation that scares Poe, makes him tighten up when he shouldn’t.

Poe stares at the floor and tries to be anywhere else.

-

Finn is holding Jessika’s hand, their grip on each other so tight they must have fractured a few delicate bones.

Snap is being sick into a trash bin.

“You should leave,” Leia says again, but she can’t put weight behind it. She’s weak, too weak to watch this alone. 

Finn’s comm beeps and he says, “Your second backtrace is almost complete, sir.”

Leia lets herself close her eyes for a moment, the first time since the transmission started. “Thank you,” she says, to Finn. To Poe.

Nerro says, “Phase two of tracing is starting.”

-

Poe is counting each breath he takes, tries to concentrate on the in, the out. Tries to ignore the slow, soft press of two fingers inside of him, the way his body sucked them in with ease.

“Oh, you are made for this, Commander.” Ren curls them, teasing. “You’re hungry for this, aren’t you?”

“Get fucked,” Poe says because his brain is on autopilot.

Ren slaps his ass once, hard, a warning. “I’m trying to make this nice for you, you rebel trash.”

The third finger is less gentle but there’s more lube -- Poe feels open and disgusting, slick down his thighs. Ren barely glances against his prostate, never touches his dick, but he teases it.

Ren fingerfucks him like that, an uncomfortable pressure in Poe’s ass. It doesn’t feel bad but Poe wishes it would.

“You have dark thoughts, Commander,” Ren says. His voice is darker now -- Poe can hear the lust curled in it. “Surely you don’t _want_ that.”

But Ren rewards him with a press against that spot inside him, and Poe squirms against his bonds, feet sliding. He tries to focus on the way the metal bites into the muscles of his back.

“Had enough teasing?” Ren asks, and he starts thrusting his fingers a little faster, pressing against his prostate on each stroke.

Poe’s dick stirs, getting hard, and Ren is barely in his mind at all, just skimming the surface of his thoughts. It makes him feel panicky, makes it hard to breathe.

Ren lets his pinky press against the rim of Poe’s hole.

“I bet,” he says, his own breathing heavy, “I could get a whole hand inside of you.”

Poe’s muscles seize up at that, clamping tight around Ren’s fingers, and he tries to buck in the restraints. He’s been docile but he can’t, he can’t stay still at that.

“You like that, hmm?” Ren says, resting his other hand on his hip. He lingers, a long press against his prostate.

Then Ren slowly spreads his fingers, pulling them out so Poe’s hole is stretched wider as he does so. It’s a wide, wide stretch, but Ren’s been fingering him for so long that it doesn’t even hurt. It burns, but not like Poe thinks it should. It’s close though -- he’s right at the edge of a sharp agony.

“I can’t,” he says, pathetic. He whimpers when Ren brings his fingers back together, and then again when he spreads them out once more.

“Are you sure?” Ren stretches him wider and runs his pinky against the inside of his rim.

Poe can only groan, thinking of those gloves, of how wide Kylo Ren’s hands felt when they hit him. It hurts now, building.

Ren hums, and then Poe’s full, four fingers right in his ass, staying still for a moment. Then he slowly, slowly stretches Poe’s hole, spreading his fingers. There’s a wet sound, lube squishing in him uncomfortably. Poe can hear the desperate sound of his own breathing.

“As you wish,” Ren says, “but know you’ll pay for it later.”

“Or,” he says, fingers still pushing slowly inside him, “let’s let our audience decide. Does your Commander take my hand now, or does he suffer an unknown fate later?”

Poe feels Ren’s fingers shift but doesn’t understand until he feels Ren’s other hand in his hair. He’s draped over his back and he yanks Poe’s head up so he’s staring right at the camera that has moved to hover in front of his face.

“Tell them what you want, Commander.” Ren’s voice is so deep, it rumbles down his spine.

Poe’s mouth is so dry; he’s been breathing in pants. The lens is flat, black, emotionless, and it breaks something in his brain to try to imagine who is watching this. 

Ren presses his fingers deeper and Poe chokes on his own moan. “P-please,” he manages.

“Not this.” The General’s voice is clipped, but it rings in Poe’s head and he bites his lip, the inside of his cheek, he doesn’t think he even has tears left to cry but he won’t anyway. He shouldn’t.

Ren presses a knuckle right against his prostate and it’s too much, too hard -- his dick jerks but it hurts.

“Hngh,” he manages, and Ren lets up.

“I think you would like it,” Ren says, and then he’s in Poe’s head. Poe’s defenses are shambles and Ren slides into his brain as easily as his fingers are slipping in and out of his ass, and both make him gag with nausea.

“I _know_ you would,” he says, and the leather skids over his prostate again, a light tap of pressure. In his mind, Ren finds the spark of arousal and blows gently on it, letting it flare up and sing down his nerves. It’s like someone walked over his grave -- Poe’s spine goes cold even as his dick gets harder.

Ren straightens up and pulls his fingers out slowly, letting Poe clench on nothing. Poe can hear him, disrobing, slicking his cock up, moving, and the whole time Ren keeps prodding his mind, keeping that flicker of arousal alive.

Ren’s cock is average girth but it’s long, and Ren slams into him in one easy thrust. Poe hates the slippery sensation of Ren’s dick sliding in and out of him, fucking up into his guts, but Ren presses and presses and presses, in his mind and in his body. He needs Ren to be ruthless, to have fucked him with no warning, no prep; this is too gentle, too familiar in some ways. He wants the pain, needs the distraction.

“Don’t,” Poe says, almost a sob. “You _said_.”

“You were already enjoying yourself,” Ren says. "But I can give you more of what you think you want." He’s still wearing those gloves, and he’s gripping Poe extra hard to keep his fingers from slipping off his skin. Each finger is a sharp bite and Poe can’t push any of it out of his head anymore -- the pain, the writhing snake of of pleasure.

Ren leans over his back and kisses between his shoulder blades. His lips are soft, full, and then he bites into his shoulder, bruises blossoming around his teeth.

Poe shouts and can’t move, can’t fucking move and he has to feel every single stroke.

“How long do you think they can stand watching you like this?” Ren asks him, his breath hot in Poe’s ear. 

“Which rebel traitor do you think is enjoying it? Just like you’re enjoying it?” Ren punctuates it with several sharp thrusts, knocking the air out of Poe.

“Are you enjoying yourselves?” Ren asks the camera. He bites at the shell of Poe’s ear, then sucks deeply on his neck. It’s too intimate -- even his fingers had been impersonal enough to disassociate at least a small amount. This is what a lover would do, how one would sound.

Ren grabs his hair and pulls his head back again, making his eyes water. His thrusts grow shallower but his voice louder, more ragged, as he shouts, “Answer me!” 

His other hand moves from his side to over his throat, sticky and gloved and heavy. His fingers span his whole neck and it doesn’t take much pressure before Poe starts feeling light headed.

“Fuck you, no!” 

Poe’s heaving with the effort of breathing but he knows that voice -- it’s Snap, oh god, oh god.

Ren lets his head fall forward and strokes his hair again. “You don’t seem happy to hear your friend, Commander.”

Poe thinks about biting his tongue and choking on his own blood.

That makes Ren growl, thrusting deep and pulling out less, and his hands move to curl around Poe’s hips, tight even though there’s no chance Poe might slide out of the way.

Poe can feel the minute he comes, because something in his own head lights up with pleasure, a filthy kind that makes his chest tighten but thankfully doesn’t make him go off in return. Poe shudders as best he can when Kylo Ren pulls out, jizz and lube sliding down his thighs.

-

“It has to be over, right?” Snap asks. He’s not facing the screen, but he won’t leave either. He brought them into the command hub, and if the others stay, he has to too.

Jessika murmurs encouragingly, but Finn shakes his head.

“That was too…” he says, trailing off. “Too clean.”

Leia checks her wrist comm, looks at Nerro, and Nerro shakes her head. She hopes Poe can take whatever’s left. She thinks, selfishly, of Shara Bey, Poe’s beautiful mother who Leia has failed so grievously by letting her son come to this great harm. Kes and Shara would burn down planets to save him, Leia thinks, and all she can do is watch as he’s burned.

-

“Now, once more, with your mouth,” Ren says. “No teeth, because I’ll rip each one out of your head before you can even think of using them.”

Poe believes him, even as he wants to bite into the flaccid flesh presented to him, too long and too pink and too comical, sticking out of his bodysuit. 

“Do you need some practice first?” Ren asks, threat heavy in his voice, and then Poe gets another mouthful of glove, Ren’s hand shoved down his throat. It hurts to have his mouth opened so wide and so fast -- Poe had his jaw clenched tight for the whole proceeding rape, and he feels the joint pop grossly.

The mix on the gloves is disgusting, but Poe is too busy choking around the fingers, gagging and gagging and finally he heaves. Kylo Ren rips his hand out of Poe’s mouth as he does and Poe coughs, sinuses and throat burning.

There’s nothing in his stomach but bile and it hurts coming up.

“I’ll kill you if you do that again,” Ren says, staring as he keeps spitting on the floor. This threat is flat, no anger. Just a statement of fact.

Poe’s jaw opens on its own accord and he tries to relax his bruised throat, tries to accept that this is happening and there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s a chemical taste on Ren’s dick, the lube, and that obscures anything else, but Poe knows this is part of the ultimate humiliation. He’s drooling immediately, and he’s glad that Ren doesn’t appear to expect any finesse, because there’s none left in him. He lets Ren fuck into his mouth -- doesn’t have a choice -- and tries not to gag around his cockhead.

Ren pushes in deep into his throat, dick long enough to press past his gag relax with a horrible pop that Poe feels behind his eyes, deep in his gut. Ren wraps his hand around Poe’s throat to feel the bulge of his thrusts, and Poe realizes belatedly he’s asphyxiating slowly. 

Ren squeezes his own dick through Poe’s neck and then pulls out, far enough that Poe can suck air through his nose greedily. 

Ren pulls out completely and says, “Keep your mouth and eyes open.” He slides those gloves over himself and Poe has to watch as color rises in his cheeks. The flush would be enticing if Kylo Ren were a man and not something twisted, corrupted beyond saving.

Poe braces himself, and it doesn’t take long -- Kylo Ren slides his thumb over the head of his dick a few times and starts to spurt, a few long ropes of come landing on Poe’s face, in his mouth, in his nose, in his eyelashes and his right eye.

It burns but it’s the smallest pain he’s felt the whole horrible ordeal, so he just blinks up at Ren.

Ren spits on him, landing on his forehead, and then laughs. He smears the mess around on Poe’s face -- drool, come, snot, lube -- and all Poe can smell is leather.

“I hope,” he says, turning to the camera, “you’ve all enjoyed the show.”

He peels the gloves off, finally, and drops them on the ground. Then he waves his hand, and all the restraints pop open at once. 

Poe takes the hint and rolls himself off the table before Ren can change his mind, falling heavy on the ground. He curls up, grabbing his head in his arms and making himself a small dark place.

“I’ll leave the hose droid with you. You’re a mess.” Ren straightens himself out and slides the mask over his head.

“Tell me what you thought,” he says into the camera, voice absurdly steady for a man who just came.

“I’m going to kill you.” The sentence is clear. The voice is the General’s.

Poe lets a tiny tendril of hope bloom in his chest, curls tighter so Ren can’t find it.

The camera follows Ren out. The door locks behind him.

-

Leia’s stare could burn holes in the screen as the feed cuts out, leaving them with nothing but black.

“Did we get it,” she finally asks, and Nerro starts typing fast on her console. Finn’s comm beeps as she does it.

“Get what?” Snap asks, hoarse. He’s cried, more freely than the rest of them. Academy friends, Leia thinks. Something tragic in his past, something that’s made him loyal.

“Yes, sir,” Nerro says, voice still soft and unwavering. Finn looks troubled, but she knows Poe must have told him something before he left. Finn has a hint. Finn knows the techs.

“Get the officers in here,” she says, forcing the steel back into her voice. She straightens her shoulders. “Get everyone in here!” 

“Yes sir!” Nerro says, and Jessika grabs Snap’s comm, starts summoning the other captains from the Starfighters.

“This was the mission,” she says to Finn as she stands up, shaking her head. “We had to...we had to send him something he couldn’t resist rubbing our noses in. The feed had to be sustained, to break through the encryptions, find what it was bouncing off of, ferret it out.”

“He didn’t say,” Finn says, quiet. “He didn’t say it would be _this._ ”

Leia wants to say that she didn’t either. She wants to tell him that this was a surprise -- they hadn’t expected it. She can’t say those things outloud, because they aren’t true.

Leia is certain that this has destroyed Finn’s trust. He’ll be loyal -- he has to be now. But he won’t feel safe. How could he? They knew the risks, and she still gave the order.

“You b--” Snap starts but Jessika elbows him in time. Leia doesn’t begrudge him, probably wouldn’t have reprimanded him. 

“Your Commander,” Leia says, “agreed. He knew Ren wouldn’t be able to resist capturing him again. It was deemed an acceptable risk.”

“He’s been gone for weeks --” Snap says.

“He was picked up two systems away from where he is now.”

Snap looks like he’s going to say something else, so she continues. “Commander Dameron is willing to do what it takes to serve the Resistance. We know their base location now. They’re weak. They won’t expect it. Probably no one even knows what Ren has done.”

“General,” Snap says, breathing heavily, “Pava and I request--”

“Bring him home, Captain. Bring him home.”

Leia doesn’t look back. She hopes Poe can do the same.

**Author's Note:**

> i now live in a dumpster labeled darkpilot, i guess, so hello other friends who have embraced themselves already here. title from the song of the same name by Murder by Death.


End file.
